


World Enough and Time

by zillah1199



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Disguise, Explicit Sexual Content, Group Sex, Oral Sex, Orgy, Surreal Situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/pseuds/zillah1199
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw a prompt on k!meme a while back that has totally obsessed me: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9730.html?thread=39981058#t39981058<br/>"Fenris and Anders both attend the same masquerade party. Wherever it is, however it comes about, however they end up there, there's an enchantment that prevents attendees from discovering other attendees' identities. It's an event that goes on for a fixed amount of time - could be a year, a month, just enough time to fall in love (and if that's not the most subjective time measure ever then I don't know what is), and maybe they only ever planned on attending the first day but then met each other and kept going back. They fall in love with eachother, and when the enchantment is finally dispelled, they have to deal with who they are. Happy ending, please!"</p>
<p>There will be a happy ending. And sex - lots and lots of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“A party?” The tone of Fenris' voice made it quite clear he regarded the idea with abject horror.

“Didn't we just come from a party, Hawke?” Anders merely sounded resigned.

“That wasn't a party. That was work.” Hawke had that grin, that scary, slightly manaical grin that made it clear he was going to get his way.

“That was the least fun party I've ever been to, sweet thing, and I've been to a lot of parties.” 

“That's because it was full of wyvern shit and Qunari and all sorts of other unpleasant things. This party will be different.”

“And you know this how?” Carver looked tired. He hadn't much wanted to go to Duke Prosper's little gathering, but when the Knight-Commander had heard his brother was invited he was shipped off with barely a chance to pack. Not that he didn't have faith in his brother. He absolutely had faith in his brother's ability to find the worst possible situation and put himself right in the middle of it. 

Hawke handed his brother the invitation. It was written in lime green ink on a disturbingly florid mauve paper. The paper was thick and expensive. Carver glanced at it and handed it back. “You know my Orlesian's no good, brother.”

Garrett smirked and cleared his throat dramatically. “To Ser Garrett Hawke, Lord Amell and Champion of Kirkwall from The Most Honorable Marquisa Adelaide Melisande Les Fleurs, greetings...” 

Isabela snatched the paper out of his hands. “Lady Les Fleurs, the Black Widow of Orlais? You have got to be kidding me?” Her eyes grew huge “How did you score an invitation to one of _her_ parties?"

Hawke's smirk was growing exponentially. “It was in the carriage waiting for us when we left Chateau Haine. It had directions to this inn, where it said we would be given further instructions.”

“Who in the name of Andraste's Holy Handkercheif is the Black Widow of Orlais? Some poncy noblewoman with a thing for spiders?”

Varric laughed. “Junior, you need to get out more. The Black Widow is only the most notorious noble in all of Orlais. She's buried five husbands, each one richer and more powerful than the last. Her parties are famous, or maybe I should say infamous, all over Thedas. Decadent, debauched, and dangerous. There are people that would kill to get one of her invitations.”

Just then there was a knock on the outer entrance of the large suite Hawke had rented for them. At the door, he was presented with a silver platter containing a bottle of very expensive champagne, a rose in a crystal vase and another mauve envelope, this one addressed to 'G.H.; L. Amell and companions.' He quickly read through the enclosed letter.

His smile grew practically feral with anticipation. “The party is to begin this evening at midnight, in the suite at the top of the Western tower. So what do you say, my friends? Care to join me?” 

“I've heard some of her parties last for days. She even has a bunch of mages from her court throw illusions all over the rooms and the guests, everything.” Isabela was breathless. If you think I'm missing my chance at this party, think again!”

Carver scowled. “How does she manage to pull that off without getting in trouble with the Chantry?”

Varric just shook his head. “The Chantry wouldn't dare. You think my information network is good? The Widow's web is drawn so tight she could bring down the Divine herself without breaking a sweat. Lady Les Fleurs is untouchable. She can, and does, do whatever she wants. The Chantry, the royal court, they all turn their noses up and sniff in disdain when her little soiree's are mentioned, then secretly hope they get an invitation like Hawke's.” He tucked a bit of parchment and a spare quill in his coat pockets. “This is something I definitely want to see.”

“Oh, it sounds ever so delightful. May I come along too? The only party I've ever been to was Aveline's wedding. That was very nice, I thought.” 

“Of course you can, kitten, the invitation is for all of us and we're going to have the most amazing time.” Hawke patted the little elf's hand. “Who else is with us?”

Carver shook his head. “Not me, brother, some of have jobs and responsibilities to get back to. I'm not about to hang around here getting blind drink with a bunch of Orlesian degenerates. I plan on getting a good night's sleep and heading out in the morning.”

“I'll be with you, Carver,” Aveline nodded. “Job _and_ a husband to get back to. This doesn't sound at all like my idea of a good time. I think I'm a little too old for this sort of thing. And a lot too married.”

All eyes turned to Fenris and Anders.

“Hawke,” Fenris' expression was aghast. “You can't possibly expect me to attend this...spectacle of irresponsible magical indulgence. It sounds far too much like the gatherings Danarius used to frequent. I do not have fond memories of such occasions.”

“Justice doesn't like the idea.” Anders frowned, fidgeting awkwardly with his staff. 

Hawke had his 'I'm a reasonable guy' face on. That always meant trouble. “Isabela is going. Varric is going. Even Merrill is going. I'm going. If you two want to leave with Carver and Aveline in the morning, go right ahead. Meanwhile, you can sit around and compare the sticks up your asses. I intend to eat too much, drink too much, embarrass myself in front of strangers and pass out. Preferably wearing someone else's clothing.” With that, Hawke turned his back on them and exited the room.

Fenris and Anders surveyed each other with equal looks of grim disgust. They both knew that there was no way they were letting Hawke go without them. Not with all the many, many ways this whole situation could go terribly wrong. Grudgingly, they followed him out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Aveline and Carver were abed, Hawke's mabari snoring blissfully under the table and there was nothing left to do but wait. Fenris hated waiting. It was nearly midnight and the atmosphere in their sitting room was intolerable. Hawke and Isabela had polished off half the bottle of champagne between them and were busy groping each other, as usual. Merrill was slightly tipsy and listening to Varric's stories of the Widow's various late and unlamented husbands, all of whom came to a sudden and unpleasant end. Anders was looking disgruntled, trying to ignore the moaning couple beside him. Fenris had managed to grab the champagne bottle from Hawke, who'd set it on the table in order to better inhale his partner's face. The fizzy stuff tickled Fenris' tongue while he set about working himself into an epic brood.

Hawke had informed them that they would be leaving their weapons in the suite, as per the invitation. This seemed like an incredibly foolish action to the elf, but Hawke and Varric assured him that no one would be gauche – or foolish – enough to harm them while they were under the Marquisa's protection. Unthinkable, they insisted. Fenris grunted. 

Hawke had told Merrill and Anders to 'try not to look like a couple of apostates.' Easy for him to say. Hawke was a mage, but you'd never know it to look at him. He had a powerful, warrior's build, like his brother and the wicked rakishness of a rogue. He never wore robes, preferring light leather armor and rarely bothered with a staff. The only hint of magic about him was the powerful charm and personal magnetism that drew everyone around him into his wake. Fenris downed more champagne, wondering, not for the first time, how he managed to get himself into these situations. A slight twitch started at the corner of one eye as Merrill began to hiccup uncontrollably. 

Just when he was certain he had ground his teeth completely into dust, a polite knock came on the outer door. It was opened to reveal a messenger dressed in an absurd concoction of lime green and mauve that Fenris assumed was some sort of livery, given the stylised red hourglass emblazoned on the tunic. The...person wearing was also wearing a ridiculous powdered wig, an unhealthy amount of makeup and a heavily embroidered domino mask. He addressed Hawke in rapid Orlesian. He had a slight lisp.

“Would you repeat that for my friends, please.” Hawke could turn even a smile into a challenge. The messenger regarded the motley group with palpable disdain. 

“Milady requests your presence. I am instructed to escort you to the evening's entertainment. You will accompany me, Si'l vous plait.”

Fenris followed the others out of the room, feeling nearly naked in only his tunic and leggings – armour being as unwelcome as weapons and mabari, it seemed. The walk seemed interminable. The inn was actually a huge castle-like affair with endless hallways decorated in the latest in Orlesian garishness. Their escort kept up a running monologue, pointing out various items of apparent interest or importance. By the time they reached the western tower, Fenris' eyeballs had begun to ache from rolling them at his surroundings.

The messenger halted them in front of an enormous pair of silver-gilt doors. He handed them each a chain bearing a small medallion engraved with what Fenris would later learn was called 'the Widow's Mark', a small hourglass. “You will need to wear these to attend the fête, They are your déguisé, non?”

Anders regarded his curiously while Merrill seemed confused. “Well, it's not much of a costume is it? It's magic, isn't it? What does it do?”

The messenger, having apparently mastered combining the air of weary condescension combined with an oily servility his job so obviously demanded of him, pursed his overly rouged lips. “Oui, Mademoiselle, they are magic. To merely mask one's face is démodé. With these you mask yourself entirely. Whilst wearing an amulet, your perceptions are altered. Anyone you encounter who is also wearing an amulet will appear as you see them in your innermost soul.”

Hawke grinned. “You mean everyone will look different to everyone else.”

“Oui.”

Isabela laughed out loud. “So if I'm looking at Kitten, I might see her looking like a kitten. But Varric might see her covered in daisies. It's all about how we think about them.”

“Not merely think of them, Mademoiselle.” This said with a sniff “But how you feel about them deep within the your heart and mind. Otherwise your companions would be too easy to recognize. You will see them as you have never considered them, yet how you have always believed them to be. 'Tis an enchantment most clever.” 

“Oh, but what about strangers? We don't have any feelings about total strangers, do we?” Merrill was poking the amulet with her finger as if it might react to her touch. 

“Do we not? Are appearances not important in how we approach others?” He looked pointedly down his nose at her. “We make many decisions based on even the merest glimpse of another, as I'm sure you are aware.”

A soft bell sounded. “Ah. You may enter now. If you have any difficulties, speak to an angel. They will assist you.” He bowed and opened the door for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not speak French. Or Orlesian. Forgive me if I've botched any words or uses.


	3. Chapter 3

The large hall was decorated in various shades of powder blue and silver-gilt. The style was lavish and rounded, everything festooned with decorative curlicues and frills. Fenris had a hard time equating this pastel fluffiness with the stories Varric had told of the so-called Black Widow and her debauched gatherings. But then, with Orlesians, who could tell. Their sense of style was disturbing enough. 

After a few moments, they found themselves crowded into the room with the other guests. It quickly became clear that the arrivals, funnelled in through one of four doors opening out of the room, were being staged in small groups. Given that most of the room was taken up by a large dais, the fifty or so people who had arrived were packed in a bit more snugly than Fenris was comfortable with. On the dais, and posted by the entrances, were about a dozen elves, barely dressed in some sort of gauzy drape, painted and powdered to accentuate their ethereal loveliness, each sporting an elaborately crafted set of white feather wings. Ah. The 'angels'.

Fenris found himself jostled into the side of a portly Orlesian in an incongruously large, disturbingly orange ruff. The person looked down their nose at him, clearly wondering how an elf could possibly be here as a guest, rather than a servant. Fenris glared and the man hurriedly turned away. 

A sudden murmur of interest from the crowd drew his attention back to the centre of the room. A large clock on the far wall was suddenly illuminated. The hands drew together to announce twelve and a puff of smoke obscured the room for a few minutes. When the smoke cleared, the guests were treated to the sight of a woman seated on an ivory chair. She was dressed in glittering blue and white, heavily made up and wearing some sort of white fur cloak. Two 'angels', each holding a bouquet of white roses flanked her. The air sparkled around them. After a moment, Fenris realised she was supposed to be some sort of Winter Queen. It was impossible to tell her age but she managed to be both intimidating and breathtaking at the same time. A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd.

When she spoke, her voice was lovely, rich and clear, magnified somehow in the crowded room. She spoke entirely in Orlesian, but Garrett whispered a translation to them.

“Welcome, one and all, to my little gathering. It pleases me to see so many of you here to partake of my humble hospitality. I can only hope that my effort to please and amaze you are worthy of your attention. It is my desire to give all of you what you desire.” The two angels escorted her to the edge of the dais, handing her the bouquets. The woman, obviously Mme Les Fleurs, stepped into the crowd, which parted around her like water. She moved among the guests, spending a moment here and there greeting particular friends, welcoming strangers, handing a single rose to each person she lingered with. Everyone seemed desperate for even the smallest crumb of her attention, but few were bold enough to approach her directly. Fenris huffed as he was, once again, jostled into the chubby Orlesian. The crowd around them pulled away as Madame approached the entrance nearest them. She caught Hawke's eye and smiled, inclining her head politely. Her eyes were an unusual shade of lavender-blue, more startling, even, than Garretts' icy gaze. She acknowledged the Champions companions with a charming smile and was nearly to the door when she spotted Fenris. One delicately plucked eyebrow rose as she eyed him with a disconcertingly direct regard. The crowd fell away as she moved to Fenris and offered him her hand. Summoning everything Danarius had ever taught him about manners and deportment, he bent gracefully, lightly grazing his lips over her lacy gloves. She continued to eye him with a mixture of intense interest and mild amusement. Just as Fenris began to feel awkward, she gestured, and one of the angels handed him a white rose. 

Madame smiled at him. “I had thought myself far too old for surprises, serah, but you have proved me wrong.” Her accent was thick and luscious. “You are something quite unusual, are you not?” She dimpled at him. “Most surprising.” With one last look, she turned away and approached the doors. “Bonne nuit et doux rêves.” She gestured expansively and exited the doors.

“Oh” Merrill looked confused. “She's not staying?” 

Orange Ruff looked down at her, “Don't be absurd.” He turned his back on her, muttering something to his companions about the poor quality of the guests this year. Meanwhile, everyone else in his group was staring at Fenris. He blinked owlishly at them, self-consciously twirling the rose between his fingers. 

Hawke grinned and thumped him on the back. “Can't take you anywhere, can I?” Before he could answer, the room dimmed to shadow and Fenris suddenly found himself disoriented, feeling as if he were falling, though he was almost certain he was on solid ground. The room reduced itself to swirling shapes and strange noises.

Then, as quickly as it started, the room righted itself, light bloomed around him and he gasped, certain he couldn't possibly be in the same place.

***

Hawke was so busy chuckling at Fenris' discomfiture (and the bright blush of his ears) that he was completely taken off guard by the sudden plunge into darkness and disorientation. He reeled a bit, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear the murkiness that had overtaken his thoughts. He had no idea how long the episode lasted, but it passed just as suddenly as it had occurred, and a chilly breeze brought him back to full awareness.

It was snowing. The 'snow' covering the floor wasn't real, just some soft white substance, cool and crunchy underfoot. Lacy crystals fell from the roof and disappeared as soon as they made contact with a solid surface. The air was cool and crisp, deliciously so after the way they had been crowded together. Breath puffed out, lightly steaming. Chandeliers dripped with crystal icicles, each lit from within, glowing delicately, and everything was decorated in shades of white and palest pastels; glittering blue crystals dripping from the walls and sconces, silver and ivory tables and chairs decked with white furs and sheer aqua silks. About where Hawke would estimate the back wall had been, a cluster of pine trees outlined an open doorway. He laughed out loud and tried to catch a 'snowflake' on his tongue. A group of nobles (or people who looked like nobles) were having a snowball fight across the room. One of the balls of fluff struck Hawke in the chest. It made no impact, simply burst apart in a puff of powdery glitter. And, most importantly, there was food and drink. Lots of drink. A fountain, easily the size of a tall Qunari, cascaded with white wine, pouring down the tiers, activating tiny chimes as it fell. There was a table beside it, festooned in lace and ribbons, and completely covered in delicate glasses each full of a different liqueur. Hawke decided to start at one end and work his way down.

***

Merrill had been standing next to Hawke when the dizziness hit. When she came back to herself, she was surrounded by people she didn't recognize. And snow! She turned up her face in wonder. She hadn't seen real snow since she'd left Ferelden, and this was wonderful, thick, deep and blanketing, perfect for making snowballs or building snow figures. She giggled as a snowball struck the man across from her in the chest. His costume was amazing, he reminded her of ancient elvhen statues she'd seen in some ruins, or perhaps like the dwarves described the representations of their Paragons at the entrance to Orzammar. He made his way to a table full of wineglasses while Merrill watched him. All around her were amazing figures, some recalling fanciful creatures, some recalling ancient tales and some, well, she wasn't sure what some of them were supposed to be, but she'd work it out sooner or later.

***

Anders suddenly found himself feeling like a child in a candy shop with a pocket full of coin. Justice intensely disliked the vertiginous episode they had just felt and retreated to the back of Anders' mind with the spirit equivalent of a migraine. That left Anders alone and unchaperoned for the first time in years. It was an opportunity he had no intention of wasting.

He headed straight to an enormous banquet table laden with all manner of delicacies. Justice frowned on eating more than was strictly necessary for survival and certainly never allowed Anders the kind of frivolously delicious dishes as the ones laid out in front of him. He grabbed a beautiful porcelain plate decorated with snowflakes and started piling food onto it. He was perfectly aware that it was totally childish of him to gorge himself sick and that was exactly what he intended to do. Two tables over, an extremely handsome man in a glorious suit of polished, shining armour was putting a serious dent in the liqueur table. Anders approved of that activity. He'd head over there soon, himself. After the dessert table, of course.

***

Fenris would deny to his dying day that he was having a good time. He'd never seen real snow before, just a thin sprinkling that melted by midday, and that only since arriving in Kirkwall. He knew this wasn't 'real' snow, but it was turning out to be just as much fun as Hawke had always described his winters in Ferelden to be. Snowballs! Who knew there was such a thing. Fenris quickly found himself embroiled in a fierce (and completely hysterical) snow-battle with a group of people who were probably supposed to be rabbits, but it was difficult to tell with all the snow that was hitting them. Fenris paused to admire a particularly handsome fellow at the wine table costumed as a phoenix when a ball of white fluff smacked him right in the face. For some reason, it was the funniest thing he could imagine and he collapsed, laughing, into a snow bank, wiping wet snow from his face.

***

Meanwhile, Varric was finding the whole thing quite interesting. Dwarves weren't immune to magic, just resistant. Varric could see the illusion laid over the blue and silver room, but, if he concentrated, he could bring up a kind of double-vision, seeing both the enchantments, and the reality underneath. He was pleased to see that Fenris, far from brooding, was having a wonderful time firing snowballs at a group of elderly Orlesian women (one of whom threw a nasty curveball), Daisy was climbing a tree, Hawke was doing his level best to polish off the alcohol supply single handed and Blondie was piling a plate so high he'd need a permit for it. Isabela was off somewhere out of sight doing who know what with who knows who. 

He was very interested to see what his friends got up to over the course of the evening. He was also very interested in partaking of some of those fancy foods, starting with that rack of lamb. Much to his delight, in addition to the wine fountain, there was also an ale fountain. Apparently, pissing urchins was passe. This fountain was made up of pissing Templars. That was fine with him, as long as the ale was good.


	4. Chapter 4

Isabela made her way into the next room. Next to a frozen pond were a number of wrought metal and ironbark lantern posts topped with glowing wisps. The pond was full of people who'd tied some odd contraptions over their shoes and were gliding along the frozen surface. The pirate found the whole thing fascinating. She'd heard plenty of tales of deep winter snows and the odd activities common in colder climes, but this was the first time she'd seen some of them in person. The sight of people tottering and sliding about on solid water struck her as particularly amusing and she watched for awhile before her eye was drawn back to the wisp lanterns. What was that joke the Hero of Ferelden had told her? 

***

Merrill wandered through the copse of pine trees and onto an open plain where a frozen pond had been turned into an impromptu skating area. She hurried towards it, barely noticing a faun taking tea with a pair of beavers and a huntsman with a heart-shaped box. Much to her delight, several sets of ice skates were piled next to the pond and Merrill found a pair she could tie onto her feet. Her clan had made skates like this back in Ferelden and she'd loved skating. Although she hadn't been terribly good at it, she recalled, as she wobbled precariously towards the pond. 

Skating was just as awkward, and just as delightful, as Merrill remembered. She was sure she'd managed to give herself a number of nasty bruises, but she was having far too much fun to care. A particularly wild turn sent her directly into the path of a large white rabbit, the two of them careening into a snowbank. Untangling themselves, they were overcome with laughter as the rabbit helped Merrill to her feet. 

“Your pardon, mademoiselle, I trust you are not injured?”

“Oh, no, not a bit. I didn't hurt you, did I? I should really be more careful. I'm always running into things. And people. And rabbits. Apparently. I didn't bruise your ears, did I?”

“My ears? Oh, no, of course not.” He chuckled, dusting her off, whiskers twitching in amusement. “Oh dear,” he glanced over her head. Merrill turned and gasped. “Oh don't!” She rushed away from the lake, towards a desire demon who appeared to be just about to stick her tongue to one of the elegant lanterns circling the area.

***

Isabela vowed that if she ever saw that rat, Cousland, again, she was going to kill him. Provided she could get her Maker-damned tongue unstuck from this blighted pillar. She tried pulling away, but it was instantly clear that there was no way to separate herself without losing a great deal of very sensitive skin. Just as she began to despair of figuring a way out of her predicament, she heard the approach of what she hoped would be a rescuer. It was hard to tell, seeing as how she couldn't turn her head.

“Oh dear. You mustn’t lick anything metal in the cold. You'll get yourself stuck, you see.”

A number of scathing retorts occurred to Isabela, all of them rendered moot by her current predicament.

“Hold on a moment, and I'll find something to get you unstuck.” After a moment the voice returned. “I'm going to pour this tea on the post, pull away just as soon as you feel the warmth. Do you understand?” The pirate nodded awkwardly.

“Thankth. I thought I wath going to be thtuck there forever.” Once separated from her pole, Isabela discovered that her rescuer was a tiny, adorable little dryad-like creature, with flowering vines for hair and silver grey moss for skin. “Well aren't you justht the thweetest thing!” It sounded better in her head. Apparently it was very difficult to flirt with a swollen tongue. 

“Are you alright? Whyever did you do such a thing? Didn't anyone ever tell you never to lick a lamppost in winter?” The little dryad's golden eyes were huge and liquid.

Isabela huffed. “I think I've been the victim of a bad practical joke. Remind me to have a few words with...someone...someday.” Odd. She'd meant to call Cousland by name, but the words just wouldn't come out. She frowned slightly. She didn't like the idea of that much intrusion into her head. But somehow she couldn't seem to stay irritated about it. About something. What had she been thinking about again? 

***

Merrill gave the empty teacup back to the faun and returned to the slightly disgruntled desire demon. She smiled up into the creature's lovely face. She knew it wasn't really a desire demon, there was no sense of malevolence about it, and the play of purple fire around it's sinuous horns was quite interesting. “Would you like to go skating with me? I'm not very good, I'm afraid, but it is great fun. Even the falling down parts. Actually, sometimes, especially the falling down parts. Have you ever skated before?”

“No, never.” The demon's tongue seemed to be healing quickly, Merrill was relieved by that, as it made her much easier to understand. She took the taller woman's hand and pulled her towards the pond. 

“Come on then. I think you'll like it. Just tie a pair of skates to your...um...claws and I'll show you how. We used to skate all the time back in...in...home. Where I'm from, that is. Which is...Oh dear, what was I saying?”

“Skating, pretty one. You're going to teach me to skate.” 

***

Fenris wasn't entirely certain how he'd gotten from a snowball fight to a dance circle, but here he was, doing his best to keep an elderly Chantry sister from stepping on his toes. She was an ungainly dancer, but seemed to be enjoying herself so much that he didn't have the heart to change partners. She chattered endlessly in counterpoint to the music, regaling the elf with an overwhelming amount of gossip about people he'd never met, scandals he'd never heard of and stories that went over his head. But she managed to make it all seem charming and endearing, so Fenris simply smiled and continued murmuring appropriate responses as he spun them around the floor.

The music stopped, Fenris bowed to his companion and moved to exit the dance floor only to find himself swept up by another partner. This woman was no aging matron, but a tall and elegant woman. She was dressed as a simple chamber maid, but no maid Fenris had ever encountered had boasted such porcelain skin, or eyes the colour of hyacinths in spring. She danced well, gliding effortlessly through a complicated minuet that Fenris had to concentrate on to avoid a misstep. After a few measures, she led him away from the other dancers, a mischievous glimmer in her stunning eyes.

“So, messere. You are enjoying the fete?” 

“It is most interesting.” Fenris nodded in agreement. 

“Interesting, you say.” She dimpled at him. “I am finding you most interesting, messere. Most interesting indeed. You are glowing. You are aware of this, non?”

Fenris blinked. He hadn't realized that his brands were dimly lit, pulsing in time to the music. 

“Never fear. I do not think anyone else has noticed.” The woman smiled again. “But I, I could not help but notice you. I have seen many things, messere, but you are a creature most rare. You will forgive my curiosity.” Fenris frowned slightly, and she patted his shoulder gently. “Do not concern yourself. It is your secret to keep. I would not wish to cast a pall on the festivities. Would you care to return to the dancing? Or perhaps you would like a drink. The wine is most fine, I am assured.”

“I would enjoy a drink, yes.” He followed her to the chiming fountain where she filled two glasses with sweet white wine.

***

Varric had made impressive inroads on the buffet. The food really was delicious, and not through any enchantment, either. Just skillful preparation, stunning presentation and excellent use of spices and seasonings. The dwarf wasn't usually a fan of Orlesian cooking, but the tables included dishes from a variety of cuisines, from the simplest roasts to the most elegant of soufflés. Varric made a point of trying nearly everything. He'd lost track of most of his companions through the course of the evening, as it was difficult to devote his full attention to eating whilst still keeping an eye on the others.

Hawke and Blondie were easy enough to find though, what with both of them having passed out under one of the buffet tables an hour or so earlier. Hawke had consumed what would have been a fatal amount of alcohol for anyone else, and Blondie, well, what did he expect, polishing off an entire cheesecake all by his lonesome. Grey Warden appetite aside, Varric had never seen a man eat like that. He shook his head, sipping his tankard of ale. Just then Hawke sat up, rolled over, vomited copiously onto someone's shoes, then passed back out again. Varric sighed. Better round those two up. Wouldn't do Hawke's reputation any good to drown in his own gorge. The dwarf signaled a couple of angels, indicating that he needed help getting the boys back to their room.


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris was certain he'd seen those lovely eyes somewhere before, and fairly recently. But the memory eluded him as he sipped his wine, wracking his brain. Really, how many human women with violet eyes could he have met? But it was like trying to grab fish in a stream. He finished his wine, enjoying the moment of relative quiet in an otherwise boisterous room. Once the glasses were empty, the woman beckoned to him, leading him into a secluded area made over to represent a crystalline grotto, complete with a bower of ivy frosted with rime.

“We are very fond of beautiful things here in Orlais.” Her voice was suddenly very close to his ear, the slight gust of her breath sending a shiver down his spine. She chuckled and followed the breath with the faintest touch of her finger, tracing the dips and volutes of cartilage and flesh. Fenris shuddered again, and heat suffused his chest and groin. “You are very beautiful Messere Elf,” he sighed as her tongue traced the same path, the slightest hint of guttural longing in his voice. “Belle et lumineuse,” she whispered as her tongue found its way to his lips and he opened up under her.

***

Anders wanted to die. He wasn't entirely certain he hadn't already died and was currently suffering the wrath of the Maker. He shouldn't have eaten all that pie His only comfort was that Justice was apparently still irritable and not speaking to him. That was one less thing to trouble him. 

He climbed out of bed – had had no memory of how he'd gotten there in the first place, and shambled towards the bathing area, hoping to wash the thick, sugary aftertaste out of his mouth. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, too. He made a mental note never to eat like that again. Assuming the opportunity ever arose. And why had he thought five strawberry crepes was a good idea? When he stumbled into the common area, Hawke was sprawled across a chaise lounge, looking like he'd been chewed on by darkspawn. Everyone in the room was speaking in an exaggerated whisper, and Hawke winced at every consonant and sibilance. 

“Hawke drank too much,” Merrill had a gift for the obvious. She looked disturbingly chipper. Anders decided to hate her for it. Hawke let out a groan worthy of a downed ox. Anders flipped some magic his way; it wouldn't cure the hangover, but it would take the edge off.

“I'm still wearing my clothes.” Hawke made it sound like a terrible tragedy. “My own clothes. I'm almost certain I didn't have sex with anyone last night.”

“Not that I saw. You were too busy trying to drink the place dry all by your lonesome.” Varric looked tired, but he clearly hadn't overindulged the way Anders and Hawke had. Anders voted to keep him off the naughty list, at least for now. “I haven't seen you drink so much since you lost that chugging contest with the kossith in the Hanged Man.”

“Will someone please make sure I have sex tonight? What's the point of a costume party if you can't knock boots with a total stranger?”

“Hard to do when you're unconscious under the drink table.”

Isabela patted his arm. “Aww. Don't worry Hawke, I'm sure we can find someone to take advantage of you, even if you do pass out again. How about I leave a note stuck to your tunic? How do you say 'ravage me' in Orlesian?”

“Don't worry about it Rivaini, just leave a dirty drawing, they'll get the idea.”

“Are we going back again?” Merrill clapped her hands, earning a wince from Hawke. “I had such a lovely time last night. First I fell on a rabbit and then I went skating with a desire demon!”

Isabela laughed “I went skating too! I've never skated before. I was having so much fun, I forgot to have sex at all!” 

Every head in the room turned and stared at her. Anders' eyebrows hit his hairline. “Really?”

The pirate hmph'd. “It is possible to have fun with your clothes on you know.” 

Hawke regarded her suspiciously. “Did you hit your head or something?”

At that moment, Fenris walked in, shirtless, disheveled and sporting two rather distinct bite marks on the side of his neck. He stopped in the doorway when he realized everyone was gawking at him. “What?”

***

Just before midnight the liveried servant guided them back to the double doors. While entrances were still being staged, there was no opening ceremony this evening. The doors opened, a wave of vertigo washed over them and they found themselves back in the same wintry landscape as before. The tables were laden with a fresh supply of food and drink and the group was quickly found themselves drawn into the celebration.

Merrill ran straight to the buffet this time, nibbling on a number of tiny cakes covered with syrupy fruit. At the end of the table she found a tree that appeared to be made of ice, its branches laden with gilded fruit. A number of people were plucking the fruits and eating them, so Merrill popped on in her mouth. It was rich and chewy and delicious, like nothing she'd ever had before. She moaned a little at the sweetness of it. A fox, his pelt rich and glossy, chuckled. “It's marzipan, Daisy. Almond paste.”

She squinted at the fox. “Varric?” The voice was strange, but no one else called her 'Daisy.'

“In the flesh, so to speak. How do I look?”

“Like a lovely fox, covered in red fur, with an extremely handsome tail. You make a very nice fox, for a dwarf. But how did you know it was me?”

“Dwarves don't do magic so well. I can see who everyone is, as long as I concentrate.”

“Oh, you can? All of us? How exciting! Can you see any of the others?”

“Just Blondie – he's over there, building a snowman with the guy in the orange ruff. He's the blackbird holding the snowman's head.”

“Oh you mean the, what do they call them, those figures the humans put in their fields to scare the crows off? All scruffy and stuffed with straw?"

“Scarecrows?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose that's what they are. That makes sense, actually. Oh!” she giggled. “Tell me what I look like.” 

“Butterflies. Have you ever seen a cloud of butterflies in spring? The way they flock to a single bush or flower? That's exactly what you look like, swirling butterflies with wings of every colour. Every time you move, they move, fluttering around you. They're in your hair, on your clothes. Even you face looks painted like a butterfly wing. You look absolutely beautiful.”

“You say such sweet things Varric.” She blushed, turning this way and that, as if she could see the ripple of wings for herself.

“Only the truth, Daisy, only the truth.”

***

Fenris smiled, remembering the night before. He studied the crowd, searching for a glimpse of hyacinth. He'd never experienced a woman quite like that. She'd been sweet and gentle, but quite assertive. After driving him to madness with licks and nibbles, she'd drawn him to the ground and ridden him as though he were an unbroken stallion, relentless, peppering him with nips and scratches. He had nothing to compare her to. He'd been ordered to perform in the past, by Magistras and apprentices such as Hadriana, only to be pushed aside upon their completion, left hard and aching with no means for relief. This woman, though, she had carried him through her climax and then to his own, sharing his pleasure in the rush of ecstasy that accompanied his release. She'd whispered sweetly to him, calling him her 'cheval sauvage'. But then he'd dozed off, awakening to find himself back in his room, still holding the rose he'd gotten at the beginning of the evening.

Isabela was flirting with a man who seemed vaguely amphibian, sleek and glossy, his movements sinuous and hypnotic. His accent reminded her vaguely of Zevran. For all she knew it _was_ Zevran, or Hawke, or somebody else she knew. Perhaps this perfect stranger wasn't a stranger at all. For some reason, she found that idea unbearably erotic. She allowed him to caress her face as he offered her a drink. 

“Are you truly a desire demon, my dear. You have certainly possessed me.” 

She laughed at what was so obviously a line. “You know you're the third person to tell me I look like a desire demon. I'm beginning to think this enchantment isn't very creative at all.”

The stranger smiled, tracing the shape of her lips with his thumb. “Or perhaps you are simply too irresistible to be disguised as anything else.”

“Hmmm. I think I like the sound of that.” She drew his thumb into her mouth with his tongue, pleased by the glimmer of lust that bloomed in his eyes.

***

Hawke was frustrated. While he had no intention of spending this evening passed out under a table, that didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy the array of fine beverages. Unfortunately, he already had two goblets of wine in each hand, leaving no room for a tankard of what smelled like extremely fine ale. On the other side of the fountain, a man who appeared to be wearing a moth outfit ( _Acherontia lachesis_ , if he wasn't mistaken) was encountering a similar problem. After juggling the glasses helplessly between his two hands, the man simply stuck his head in the fountain and let the miniature Templar piss ale straight in to his mouth. Messy but effective. That would work, Hawke decided.

***

Anders was drunk, but not nearly as drunk as he intended to get. He had ale in his hair, because he just hadn't been able to resist the irony of drinking directly from the fountain. The ale _was_ very good. But then, so was the wine he was currently drinking, awkwardly managing multiple glasses in each hand. The red was particularly fine. He wondered if there was more.

He wandered off with his drinks in his hand into another room. Odd how many of then there seemed to be. Ahead of him he saw a giant chessboard with various partygoers disguised as chess pieces. There seemed to be a separate enchantment on the area of the board, as the players returned to whatever their 'normal' costumes were when they left the board. Anders was utterly captivated by the display, especially the figures of the two queens. Gorgeously statuesque, the were identical save for their color; one a pale alabaster white, from her silver eyes to her tightly braided hair, the other a deep ebony. Anders imagined that they must look something like kossith women, given that they were so muscular and haughty. He found a bench and sat down with some others to watch the game.

***

Fenris mingled for awhile, slipping from room to room, silently observing and then moving on. He'd forgotten he was looking for the woman with the hyacinth eyes, and simply absorbed everything happening around him. He paused to enjoy a plate of sweetmeats and a cup of steaming hot cocoa, then headed to a clearing where a living chess game seemed to be taking place. He'd nearly reached the game when movement in a little grove off to the side caught his attention. Two figures were seated on the ground, wound around each other in an intimate embrace. They reminded Fenris of a tale he'd heard at one of Danarius' private gatherings.

Another Magister, whose name escaped the elf, had possessed a most unusual slave, a delicate woman with skin the color of burnished gold. She'd been found with a shipwreck, an unusual dragon-shaped boat, clearly from someplace far, far away. The lands she described seemed utterly fabulous to Fenris and she told many tales of her homelands. One had featured an entity much like a desire demon, who took the form of an exquisite woman with a painted face and voluminous layered robes. What gave her away was the presence of a fox's tail peeking out from the edge of their robes. Sure enough, these women each sported a furry tail, though they'd dispensed with their robes some time ago.

Fenris watched for a moment, as the women drew someone into the grove with them. Fenris stared. It was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. He watched as the fox maidens enticed the man out of his clothing and onto the ground with them. He couldn't tear his eyes off the scene.

***

Lady les Fleurs surveyed the celebration with satisfaction. The party was going well. She wore the same costume she had the day before, and, like then, she had no amulet. She preferred to see her guests as they were, and that they see her exactly as she wished them to. Or better yet, that they not notice her at all. Though she wavered from that rule from time to time, as she had last night, when she'd dallied with that luscious elf. 

She sipped her mulled cider and smiled. She'd been tempted to try and convince him to stay. He really had been delightful. But she was old enough to know that time would have dulled his novelty and her interest would have faded. Or worse, he would have grown jaded by machinations of Orlesian life. That would have been a terrible shame. He had such an unusual combination of innocence and bitter world-weariness. She'd heard rumours of an escaped slave out of Tevinter matching his description. She enjoyed a moment's satisfaction at the idea of tweaking the noses of those magisters, but again, she decided against it. She had many secrets, and this was just another she would enjoy keeping. 

Clearly her people had things well in hand, as they always did. She had agents all throughout the party, gathering information, observing, ensuring that everyone and everything proceeded perfectly. The angels were only the most obvious of her servants, all of whom were utterly devoted to her. The party would continue for another day or so, stopping before her mages overextended themselves. She, herself, would retire to her estate in Val Royeux, where any number of vexing political issues would undoubtedly await her. She sighed. She did so look forwards to this season being over. She'd never admit it, but she really was getting old for this sort of thing. Ah, but the Comte de Blanchard awaited her in the capitol. An utter fool, but a young and beautiful one, and quite gifted in the l'art d'aimer. Time to let the soiree run its course.


	6. Chapter 6

Hawke was used to telling Death to get fucked, metaphorically speaking. Having the opportunity to do so literally, and to be the one doing the fucking, was turning out to be a singular pleasure. He'd prowled the party, drinking heavily, but not enough to put him back under the tables. Not tonight. Most of the party was gathered in the first two rooms, dancing, feasting and frolicking. Several groups were playing in the snow, skating, engaging in snow fights, building various beings and structures. A chess game took up the bulk of one room. All too disgustingly wholesome for Hawke's taste. But in the hidden recesses of some of the rooms, the dark grottoes, the secluded groves, a more visceral form of entertainment could be found. Couples, groups and various assortments of beings merged together in convolutions of flesh and carnality.

Exploring one of these areas had led him into the arms of a seductively macabre creature, exactly the sort of debauchery Hawke had been looking for. The face of a skull, decked in paint and flowers, with a cascade of moonflowers in place of hair, the being was hermaphroditic, with the breasts and curves of a woman, but the genitals of a man. Her (his? Whatever, Hawke didn't care) skin was broken in a number of places, revealing the muscle and bone beneath. Over half of the being's chest cavity was revealed, leaving the ribs and part of the spinal column naked amongst the pulsing wetness of lungs and heart. A gleaming, iridescent black snake twined it's way among the bared rib-bones, out over a shoulder and around a neck, back into the rent flesh, dipping out of sight, then reappearing as it continued to navigate in and out of the creature's body. Hawke found it almost painfully hot. So much so that he currently had the skeleton pinned beneath him as he thrust, punishingly hard, into his (her? He still didn't care) slick and deliciously tight ass, fucking as if his life depended on it. A hand, part flesh and part bone, tugged it's own erection between them, keeping pace with the furious tempo of Hawke's hips, bucking up into him with every thrust. A woman bent over them, taking the skeleton's tongue in her mouth, pendulous breasts swinging in response to the percussion of their coitus. Underneath him, the skeleton arched, thick steam spurting from the head of its cock, where liquid should have been. Hawke picked up his pace even further, hips thrusting harder, grunting with effort as sweat tickled the back of his neck. It was only a minute or two before he gasped. “Oh, fuck.” He spent himself, pleasure flooding his body, rushing through every fiber of his being as he watched his own spunk bubbling up through gaps in skin and sinew.

***

Merrill lay with her head in Varric's lap. The marzipan really had been delicious, but perhaps she shouldn't have eaten so much of it. Varric was stroking her head, singing an old dwarven lullaby. Even disguised, his voice was lovely. Sonorous and full, the sound was pleasantly soothing His thick, fluffy tail was draped over her and she stroked the rich, red fur. “Mmmm, your tail is so splendid, Varric. You really should consider growing one when we get back to Kirkwall.” 

Varric chuckled, interrupting his serenade. “It's not a real tail, Daisy. It's just an illusion. There's nothing there.”

“Really? But I can feel it, right here in my hands. Every hair, just like a real fox.” She pressed her face into the fur. “It even smells good, woodsy and warm, like autumn leaves.”

“Nope. The only thing in your hands is your imagination.”

Merrill giggled. “That sounds like something dirty.” She sighed, breathing in the scent of Varric's imaginary tail again. “Hmm, there must be some powerful magic going on for an illusion like this. I wonder how she's doing it. I don't know any spells that could manage it. No Dalish magic, anyway. Maybe it's something from Tevinter. I could ask Fenris, he might know.”

“Probably better not to, Daisy, you know how he gets. I can tell you that the air is full of glamor dust, I'm sure that has something to do with it.”

“Oh yes, that would help, wouldn't it. Are you sure you don't want to grow a tail? It really is lovely.” Merrill yawned hugely. Varric smiled and resumed the lullaby, placing a soft kiss on Merrill's temple as she drifted off to sleep.

***

Fenris had been watching as the trio in front of him writhed together, pleasuring each other in a variety of ways. He clutched at the branches in front of him. He'd come into his own hand repeatedly, but he was still so hard he was aching from it. The women were lovely enough, but the man...he was like nothing Fenris had ever seen before. Beautiful, tall and long-limbed, skin glowing like the sun behind the darkness of rain-swollen clouds. His body pulsed with energy, a wild, swirling thunderstorm in a vast, seamless sky. Bright eyes sparked with power and lightning dripped from his hair. Fenris felt the man's very being pulling at him, a burning longing that thrummed in his blood. He wanted to touch this glorious creature, run his hands over stormclad skin, taste the tang of ozone, lose himself in pure elemental glory. 

One of the vixens was on her back, hands tweaking and pinching her own nipples. Her friend, on her hands and knees, had her face buried between the vixen's parted legs, the storm elemental pounding into her from behind. Fenris watched, stroking himself in sync with the other man's motions. He groaned, imagining those cloud covered hands digging into his own hips. He barely noticed a voice whispering endearments into his ear in a low sweet tone.

“They are beautiful, are they not? You enjoy watching them?” Hands stroked Fenris' back and shoulders, a tongue flickered along the rise of his ear. “May I?”

“Yes, please.” Fenris couldn't tear his eyes from the scene in front of him. He groaned, watching the woman on her back kneaded her own breasts, not looking away even with the sudden feeling of warm lips teasing at the head of his cock. He buried his hands in thick curly hair, struggling to hold back his climax, waiting for the dark man he was watching.

Lips and tongue teased at his shaft, his fingers flexed in the hair of the unknown person kneeling between his legs. In the grove, the vixens were kissing while the elemental continued thrusting into one of them. The mouth on Fenris' member was warm and wet, taking him deeper and deeper with every bob and thrust. Fenris felt his hips began to mimic the increasingly erratic thrusts he was watching. The storm lord bowed over the woman he was holding, his hands tugging at her breasts, a deep moan escaping him as he shuddered to orgasm. Fenris felt his own balls draw tight in response. He cried out as the tight coil of heat at the center of his being erupted into wave after wave of pleasure. When he recovered his senses, his partner had vanished without Fenris ever seeing who it had been, and the three lovers in front of him were tangled together again, this time in sweat drenched exhaustion.

Fenris crawled forwards, the need to touch this amazing being no less acute, even with the multitude of spend coating him. Up close, the man smelled like thunderheads caught on a mountain's peak, like warm rain on parched earth, like snowmelt in a rushing stream. He pressed himself close, inhaling the wildness of the man's scent. He felt a strong arm gather him close and sleep claimed him.

***

By her own count, Isabela had screwed seven different people. Her legs and groin ached pleasantly. Currently she was basking in a hot spring she'd found tucked into an icy hillside. The contrast of steaming, sulfurous water with the brisk cold of the room was wonderfully sensual, and the heat felt divine on her abused muscles. The pool was large enough for several people, but, for the moment at least, Isabela had it to herself. She tipped her head back, letting herself drift into a half-sleep, enjoying the distant music of what sounded like a string quartet. Isabela didn't know much about Orlesian music, but the tune was bright and cheerful. She guessed that there were dancers not too far off, but the water was far too comfortable to forsake, no matter how catchy the music. Perhaps she'd have a brief nap. She might feel like investigating the music later. 

***

The chess queens were just as enticing off the board as on. Currently, the light queen was straddling Anders' face, while the dark one was riding his cock. Facing each other, they were kissing and biting one another, hands busy with each other's breasts as he urged them both to completion. They were moaning, soft, lusty gasps that sent hot lances of desire into Anders' skin. His hips and tongue thrust in tandem, drenched in their juices, the combination of taste, smell and the slick grind of skin on skin overwhelming him. He'd been so long deprived of human contact, of any kind of relief other than his own hand, now he was drowning in it. They'd been going at each other for some time, exploring every possible configuration three bodies could manage, a few of them more than once. Warden stamina was living up to it's expectations, and his two partners showed no signs of fatigue. A hot gush over his face and down his chin told Anders that his light partner was coming, her fluids thick and sweet on his tongue. He bucked hard as the black queen shuddered her own climax, the tight pulsing on his dick pushing him over the edge and he shot his release into her. Sighing blissfully, he teased both women through their aftershocks and into a second climax. 

They rearranged themselves after that, the dark skinned woman sprawled on the ground, her skin like polished ebony against the snow, pulling her pale sister down to lap up the come spilling out of her. Anders raised himself onto his knees and slipped his slick member into the impossibly pale ass raised up in front of him. His erection had yet to flag and he began thrusting again, fingers digging into white hips, leaving rosy marks in the ivory flesh. Soft whimpers from the dusky girl heightened his passion, and he watched as she kneaded her own breasts, working the nipples so hard that they leaked milky fluid, pearly against her midnight skin. He groaned, pumping harder. With a ring of muscle tight around his throbbing prick and a dense pulse of sensation building at the base of his spine, he had to bite his lip, struggling to hold off orgasm until he knew the two women had found their own. He felt the pale girl's muscles tensing around him, and he grew even harder, balls tight and toes tingling as he reached forwards for a handful of heavy, bouncing breast. She suddenly wailed, her walls spasming and he surrendered to the surge of bliss, emptying himself into her. It took all his strength not to collapse on top of her, riding her through the rest of her own orgasm and the even louder finish of her counterpart. Finally sated, they collapsed into a sweaty tangle. Anders drifted off to sleep, bodies pressed against him on all sides, more relaxed than he could remember being in years.


	7. Chapter 7

Anders found the hot spring and climbed in eagerly. It was more than big enough for his long-legged frame, and he took the opportunity to submerge himself completely. He was clean, having bathed in the suite before dinner, he just enjoyed the warm embrace of the water. The heat was soothing, easing his aches and sore muscles from the previous evening's rather exuberant carousing. His head ached a bit, and he'd argued with Justice earlier, which always left him tense and twitchy. The party was making Justice anxious, and he felt that Anders was neglecting his duties with all this frivolity. The spirit strongly felt it was time to return to Kirkwall, but Anders had disagreed. Justice's disdain for all this personal indulgence was clear and Anders had gotten angry, comparing him to a Templar with his need to control and curtail nearly all their shared bodily functions. He'd felt a sting of hurt from the spirit, and Justice had retreated in confusion. Anders felt bad, he hadn't meant to wound his friend, he was just so frustrated sometimes. It was hard to for a spirit to understand human needs and the way Justice's intensity was wearing him down. He felt his shoulders bunching again and dismissed the thought. He was here to relax and have fun. There were several other people in the pool, chatting idly. Anders put on his most charming smile and joined the conversation.

***

It hadn't taken Varric long to realize that several of the 'guests' were actually agents of the Marquisa. It was a simple matter to observe them and wander close (but not too close) when they took an interest in a particular grouping of partygoers. He was learning quite a bit about his fellow merrymakers. Ironic, really, how much people were willing to reveal about themselves when they thought they were incognito. A number of the enchantments seemed to be geared towards preventing excessive personal disclosure (he made up his mind to ask the mages about that, since he'd been able to speak freely with Daisy), but that didn't stop a remarkable amount of gossip and scandalmongering from flowing as freely as the wine. He had his parchment and quill and frequently stepped into a secluded area to take notes. Information is power, after all.

***

Fenris was getting frustrated. The layout of this place just didn't make sense. Just when he was certain he'd gotten his bearings, he'd take a turn that he knew should have led to one room, only to find himself somewhere else completely. It was maddening. He searched the crowd, desperate for a glimpse of lightning, a breath of storm. Finally, just as he despaired of ever locating his quarry, he caught sight of a steaming spring, where a handful of people were soaking. One of them was the man he'd been searching for. He watched, hoping the others would leave soon.

***

There was something fitting about having a trio of water nymphs feeding her sweets, Isabela decided. Naturally she was partial to sea creatures, and these three were particularly lovely, covered with pearlescant scales with delicate seaweed twined into their hair. One was a deliciously muscular male, while the others were female, one buxom and full-figured and the other slender as an elf. A perfect selection, she decided. Best of all, instead of tails, they had long, finned legs, and were in possession of all the necessary parts for intimacy. After all, what pirate worth their salt could resist an encounter with such lovely water spirits? 

***

Somehow, Hawke had gotten involved in a snowball fight. It shouldn't have been surprising, really, the party'd had a number of them going every night thus far, it was just that Hawke hadn't really paid much attention to the less visceral activities until now. It had been years since he'd played in the snow like this, not since Carver and Bethany had been young. He'd forgotten how much fun it could be. How odd that here, in the decadent opulence of Orlais, he found himself pining for the clear fresh air of Ferelden, and all the things he'd lost in the Blight. He'd need to get drunk later, before the memories turned painful, but for now, he was indulging himself in simple joys he thought he'd left behind forever. And he was absolutely going to wipe the floor with that tiny girl in the sunflower dress.

***

One by one, his fellow bathers drifted off to other pursuits, but Anders was far too comfortable to leave the pool just yet. Instead he leaned against the edge, eyes closed and sunk down until the water touched his chin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to soak to his heart's content and he planned to savour every minute of it. 

“May I join you?”

The voice was pleasant, rich and resonant. Anders nodded without bothering to open his eyes. He felt the water displace as someone climbed in across from him. “Enjoying the party so far?” Anders didn't much feel like indulging in small talk, but it would have been rude not to acknowledge his new companion.

“It is...not what I expected.”

Anders laughed at that. “I know what you mean. I hadn't wanted to come at first, didn't see the point of it, but now I'm glad I did. I guess I didn't realise how much I needed a break.”

“Indeed. I seldom have occasion to socialise but it has been surprisingly enjoyable. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

Anders opened his eyes, prepared to thank his new friend, only to find his mouth dry and the words caught in his throat. The man across from himself was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Beautiful, almost unbearably so. “You're all made of starlight,” he gasped. And he was, dark as night and cloaked in stars, his skin a canopy of midnight and flickering light, his hair sparkled with comet trails and his eyes like copper moons. It was breathtaking, and Anders wanted nothing more than to lose himself in that raven firmament.

“Am I?” He handed Anders a wineglass, while sipping from his own. 

For a while the two of them simply sat there, drinking quietly, suddenly shy yet unable to take their eyes from each other.


	8. Chapter 8

Varric wandered the party, frowning. He was ready to go back to Kirkwall. Unfortunately, it seemed he was the only one. When he'd broached the subject at dinner (breakfast really, but seeing as his companions were waking well after dark, it seemed ridiculous to call it anything else) his suggestion had been voted down, vehemently. Even Anders and Fenris wanted to stay, which Varric found more than a bit surprising. He hadn't seen what the two of them had been getting up to, in fact he only bothered to check on Daisy at this point, but apparently they'd found something worth staying for. Either way, they'd been here for four days, and gone from Kirkwall for weeks before that. He had work to do. And frankly, he was a little 'Orlesianed out.'

Speaking of Merrill, as he rounded a corner, he found her with Hawke. As in 'with' Hawke. In the carnal sense of the word. He was pretty sure neither one of them had the least idea who the other was, and he wasn't about to enlighten them. He wasn't going to watch it, either. Sure, Daisy was a big girl, and perfectly capable of making her own choices, but still...Hawke took nothing seriously, least of all sex. Hawke wouldn't hurt her deliberately, but well, in so many ways, he was a bird of prey and she was just a tender little rabbit. Frowning, he returned to his room. One way or another, he was leaving tomorrow.

Varric had expected an argument the next day, but Hawke simply agreed that, sure, they should probably be getting back, as he tore into a ridiculously large plate of sausages and quiche. Considering the amount of food that they'd been putting away at the party, Varric was starting to wonder why none of them had exploded. Yes, they'd been up till dawn or later every night since they got here, but the amount of eating and sleeping they'd been doing (even his own) seemed disproportionate. When Hawke was done gorging himself, Varric suggested they all start packing. Hawke agreed, but wound up prowling the suite restlessly instead. The others were doing the same. The feeling of unease that had been growing under Varric's skin surfaced as he watched them all, twitchy, irritable, constantly checking the large water clock on the mantle. Even Merrill was wringing her hands, bouncing her leg against the chair cushions. Anders was pacing, biting his fingernails. Fenris would emerge from his room, deep shadows under his eyes, check the clock, swear in Tevinter, then slam the door. Only Isabela seemed relaxed. Or relatively relaxed. She was slightly tipsy, carrying on a monologue about some of the amazing things she'd seen and done over the past few days. She seemed oblivious to the fact that no one was listening. 

“Hawke.” Varric inserted himself in front of his quarry. “It's time to leave.”

Hawke's head whipped around to check the clock. “Five minutes yet. We've still got five minutes.”

“Home, Hawke. It's time to go home. We talked about this.”

“Did we? But, I'm not really ready to do that yet. I want to go back. I need to go back, just for a bit...”

“Hawke...” 

“We can talk about this tomorrow, alright Varric? Another night. One more, and...” Just then the door opened to the liveried guide and everyone, Fenris included, stampeded to the towards him, nearly knocking Varric to the floor in their haste.  

_Fine_ , thought Varric to himself. Hastily he scrawled a note telling his companions he was starting back towards Kirkwall. He didn't like this. Didn't like it one bit. Heading down to the main desk, he requested a porter for his luggage and a coach to take him to the nearest place to catch a ship. He figured, even if he had to backtrack a bit, if he could catch a ship in the next day or two, he could probably make it to Cumberland before Aveline and Carver. But first, he was going back up to that party and get Merrill out of there, if he had to throw her over his shoulder to do it. Bianca would understand.

In the end, Varric simply resorted to lies. He found Merrill, assured her that they were coming right back, he just wanted to go fetch Carver, since it didn't seem fair that he and Aveline were missing the party. Merrill thought that was a lovely idea and had followed him tipsily out to the carriage. Once there, she'd gotten extremely dizzy, vomited out the window and passed out on the bench next to him. Her colour looked off. Varric fed her a rejuvenation potion mixed with water and gently stroked her hair until she woke up. 

***

Fenris was exactly where he wanted to be, wrapped in stormclouds and lightning. Having to separate for the morning irked him. He didn't want to be called away, not to sleep, not to eat, not for anything. Everything he wanted was right here. He'd never felt anything like it. Even with the odd constraints the magic surrounding them put on communication, he _knew _this man, like he'd never known anyone before. They connected, as if they'd known each other all their lives, like he's finally found some missing part of himself. He wasn't thinking in quite such precise terms, but he felt it, felt like he belonged with this other person, this beautiful, delectable, fascinating person. The thought of leaving him ...it felt like breaking himself apart. They were kissing, bodies joined together, knowing their time was limited, unwilling to squander even the tiniest moment. They came with soft cries and tensed limbs, and Fenris pulled his elemental lover even closer, burrowing his face into the other man's shoulder.__

__“I cannot bear to leave you again.”_ _

__“I'll never leave you.” The smell of rain and the tingle of lightning as hands brushed the loose hair from Fenris's face._ _

__“We cannot stay here forever. Eventually this, this illusion, will end and we will be parted. We may not find each other again.”_ _

__“I would know you anywhere.”_ _

__“Would you?” Fenris stared at him in sorrow, then squinched his eyes at the burn of tears. “And if you don't?” he whispered. The storm creature kissed him quietly for a few minutes then sat up._ _

__“Here.” He drew a strand of lightning from his hair and tore it in half with his teeth. One half he fastened around his own wrist, the other around Fenris'. “Now we can find each other anywhere. Even once we're out of this room, all we have to do is look for the person with the other half. Then we'll be whole again.” He lay back down, pulling Fenris on top of him._ _

__***_ _

__Just as Varric was starting to worry, Merrill yawned and sat up._ _

__“Creators, I feel like I could sleep for a week. Where are we?”_ _

__“We're waiting for a boat to Cumberland. How do you feel?”_ _

__She frowned. “Odd. Drained. Like I've been casting and casting and running and screaming all at the same time. But I shouldn't should I? How strange.”_ _

__“Listen, Daisy. Something's not right about that party. It was fine at first, but then it started feeling...off. And you were all getting obsessive about it. Like nothing else mattered. I think we need to get some outside help. And, well, I was worried. I didn't want to leave any of you there, least of all you.”_ _

__“You know, it did seem terribly important to be there at the time, but now that we've left, I can't remember why. Like a word on the tip of your tongue that you can't quite catch. Oh, but how are we going to bring the others home. They won't thank us. I know I didn't want to leave.”_ _

__“I'm hoping we can catch Aveline and Carver. See if they have any ideas.”_ _

__"That might work. I suppose they could just knock the others down and carry them out, since they're both so big and strong.”_ _

__Varric frowned glumly. “Let's hope it doesn't come to that.”_ _


	9. Chapter 9

Justice was drowning in bliss. 

Normally he existed just below the surface of Anders' skin, floating quietly, aware but undisturbing. He'd surge to the surface, if necessary, or sink deeply where the current of Anders' mind couldn't reach him. He'd dipped down into the abyss of Anders subconscious the first night of the party. The sudden burst of magic when they'd entered had been almost painful in it's intensity. Which was odd. He shouldn't be capable of such sensations. He'd stayed there for the first few nights, certain that Anders would quickly tire of such nonsense. When he'd risen up again, he'd found that, far from preparing to return home, his host had every intention of wasting even more time at frivolity while mages languished back in Kirkwall. They had plans, and the spirit was growing impatient. Justice had made his disapproval known, Anders had lashed out. Justice had been taken aback, his feelings injured by his Anders' vitriol.

But that couldn't be. Justice had no feelings. He was the embodiment of a virtue. He cared only for Justice. He  _was_ Justice, granted human form by accident and later by design. So it couldn't have been anger or spite that caused him to surge forward, determined to claim Anders' body and remove them both from this obstruction to their goals. He was incapable of anger, her was certain of that. He was Justice. Only Justice. He held that thought in mind as he surfaced.

Where he was met by magic like he'd never felt before. As he reached the skin of Anders awareness, suddenly he could feel the Fade, smell it, taste it, nearly touch it. He'd had whiffs of it since being exiled to the mortal realm, but nothing like this. The very air hummed with music of the Fade, so deep and rich it was almost like being home again. It was intoxicating. Overwhelming. For the first time since leaving his home, Justice understood need. The spirit reached out, surrendering himself to it.

***

Hawke smirked as he caught the eye of a striking young woman dressed in shimmering dragon scales. She was gorgeous, with yellow eyes, flawless skin and a garment that rippled and shimmered as it caressed her subtle curves. Even the haughty frown on her face couldn't dim her beauty, and Garrett had every intention of watching her face turn from contempt to desire. He sidled up to her, prepared to charm the pants (or whatever she was actually wearing) off of her.

Before he could deliver any of the smooth small talk he'd prepared, she turned and snapped at him.

“Oh, it's you, I see.” Her lips pursed in a frown even as Hawke did a double-take, wondering what he'd done to annoy her. She brandished a letter in his face.

“How many times have I argued with Fleurry about this foolishness? Then three mages. Three! An apostate and all that lyrium. No wonder it's all gone wrong. Now with her off to court, because her daughter's been appointed handmaiden to the Empress, and oh, she can' possibly get away, not now, who's left to set everything right, I ask you? Do you have any idea how what's going on here? How much time has passed? Of course you don't. Fools, all of you.” She made a disgusted noise as she gathered a young dragon into her arms and flounced off. “Come along, Kieran.”

Hawke stared after her, but before he could formulate any kind of reply she was long gone, the memory of her fading like a wisp. 

***

Anders had his arms wrapped around his lover as they swayed together to a distant, haunting melody. There were others dancing as well, but Anders paid them no mind. Everything that mattered to him was right here, in his arms. His heart was full and his mind was quiet. He could live like this forever. He was dimly aware that they hadn't been back to the suite in some time. That was fine with him. Everything they needed was here. They could eat, sleep, bathe. They'd even found cleverly disguised privies. He could stay in the love of his life's arms forever, if he wanted. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed, almost as if the whole of his life had been a dream up until now. The others would understand. They were out there somewhere, he supposed. It wasn't like they'd really miss him. He had no real connections outside this place. Even Justice seemed to have abandoned him. That was fine. He wasn't alone anymore. He'd never be alone again.

***

Fenris breathed in the scent of his lover, reveled in the crackle of lightning across his skin. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. He wanted to stay here forever. And he would, if he could manage it. He felt a twinge of guilt for Hawke, his friend who had done so much for him, but Hawke would forgive him. Fenris wasn't _needed_ back in Kirkwall, not really. He'd enjoyed some of his time there, but it all seemed hollow, by comparison. To go back to an empty mansion, a seemingly endless stream of fighting and drinking and waiting for his old master to come and claim him – what would be the point. It was a bitter, empty life, he understood that now. He was tired of being empty. He'd tasted happiness and it was sweeter than he could ever have imagined.

***

 

Varric led Merrill into the inn. They'd ridden straight from the boat, stopping only to change horses. They'd made good time, and it was a better than even shot that Carver and Aveline would stop here on their way home. Hopefully he hadn't missed them. Daisy'd been sick at first, but she'd perked up once they'd left that damned party behind them.

The innkeeper had turned up his nose when Varric had requested two rooms, expecting Merrill to sleep in the stables with the other “knife-ear servants.” He'd quickly been disabused of that notion. Even the staunchest prejudices could be overcome by sufficient application of coin. Varric fancied the name 'Tethras' would carry some weight as well.

He'd been right. The innkeeper did a double-take at the name, bowed obsequiously and handed Varric an envelope. Varric didn't recognize the seal, but he opened it anyway. 

The message was simple, written in an elegant hand:

“Do not leave the inn until your Templar and Guardswoman arrive. Your friends are in trouble. I will send further instructions. Stay where you are.

M.”


	10. Chapter 10

Morrigan waited at the gates to the castle, tapping her foot impatiently. 

“It took you long enough,” she huffed as the arriving carriage spilled it's passengers.

“And you are?” Aveline looked disdainfully at the scantily clad woman. Instructions had arrived at the inn, directing them to transport that brought them back here, to gates the party Inn, and the haughty woman facing them now.

“ _I_ am the person who is going to help you extract your friends from the fine mess they've gotten themselves into. You, Templar,” she snapped, forcing Carver to focus on her face rather than her beguiling figure. “What do you get when you add three mages, a rogue fade spirit and a lyrium imbued warrior to a very delicately balanced magical enterprise?” 

Carver stared blankly while Hawke's mabari whined and covered his face with a paw.

“And the dog is _still_ the smartest member of the party. You get a feedback loop, that's what you get.”

“I'm sorry?” Aveline stared at the strange woman.

Morrigan sneered. “Undoubtedly. “ She shook her head. “There is too much magic in that room. And it has nowhere else to go. The mages are thinning the Veil and drawing magic to keep the illusions going. The entire setup has been arranged to work with a very precise amount of Fade energy. Extra mages can be adjusted for, but a living lyrium battery and a Fade spirit that has entwined itself into the process – that's a disaster. They're all trapped in there, sucked into the magical interchange. It's draining the life out of them.”

“Is everyone alright?” Carver wanted to punch his brother most of the time, but that didn't change the fact that they were family.

“No, they are not alright. Some of the mages working the illusions are suffering from mana overload and any of the guests with even the slightest bit of magic sensitivity are behaving like addicts. It's going to get worse the longer it lasts. We have to end this, now, and it's not going to be easy.”

“So what do you suggest?” 

***

Fenris and Anders lay together, floating in afterglow. Suddenly he felt a sleep spell and the surge of Justice rising up from under his skin. He saw blue and then succumbed to darkness.

***

Justice felt the enchantment designed to drag his host and himself into darkness, followed by the ripples of a distant smite. He roared to the surface, determined to strike down those who tried to cut his connection to the Fade. He had no concern for the sleeping form of the elf beside him, or any of the other revelers dozing quietly around him. He intended to find the ones who had taken away the magic and make them suffer for his loss.

***

“YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!” 

“Now, quickly!” The furious blue form approaching them had knocked Aveline aside as though it were swatting a fly. Morrigan, Merrill and Carver lined up to face the spirit.

Two stunning hexes and another smite, much more powerful than the first knocked Justice out completely. Carver fell to his knees, drained by the exertion. He focused on keeping his breathing even while Morrigan began directing 'angels' to start removing the sleeping party goers. 

“That was close.” Varric had found a cup of juice and handed it to the sweating Templar. “Justice is pretty terrifying when he's coming straight at you.”

Carver drained the cup in one swig. “Tell me about it. I was afraid that smite wouldn't do it.” He handed the cup back to Varric. “I'm going to go look for Garrett.”

***

Garrett awoke, stomach roiling. He rolled over to his hands and knees and began vomiting. He sat up, wiping his mouth as his brother approached. He took the offered glass of wine, swished out his mouth and spat the foul taste into the floor. He blinked at his brother for a few minutes.

“You smote me?” His voice trembled in outrage.

“No choice. You were stuck in a magic feedback loop, whatever that is. You'd have died if we hadn't gotten you out. That's what Morrigan said anyway. We had Merrill knock everyone out first to make it easier.” Carver sat down next to Garrett, armor scraping the polished wood floor.

“It wasn't easier.” Hawke's mouth twisted bitterly. He turned the glass repeatedly in his hands for a few minutes before throwing it into the wall and watching it shatter. “Carver, how could you?”

“Because you were stuck! Was I just supposed to leave you here to die?” 

“Not that.”

“Then what?”

“That.” Garrett gestured to the symbol on Carver's chest. “The whole... Templar thing. How could you join the enemy? How could you betray Bethany like that? And Father. And...me,” he finished sadly.

Carver rounded on him. “I'm not betraying anyone! Is that what you think? That I did this out of spite? It's not all about you, Garrett. It's because of Father and Bethany. Even you. I became a Templar to help mages!”

Garrett sneered at him. “Because Templars are such wonderful people.”

“Which is exactly _why_ people like me need to become Templars. People who understand Mages, who aren't afraid, who see them as people. If only sadistic bigots become Templars, then that's all they'll ever be, and mages in Circles will keep having to live in fear. What if I had been the one who died on the way to Kirkwall and Bethany had lived? What would have happened to her? I joined so I could do everything I could to make sure that someone can protect people like her from people like Alric or Karras. Why can't you understand that?”

Hawke gaped at his younger brother for a minute, then dragged him into a bone-crushing hug. “Oh, Carver. I thought I'd lost you, too.”

“Yeah, well. Somebody's got to keep your bacon out of the fire.” He squirmed uncomfortably, but didn't break the embrace.

***

Varric was surrounded by mages wrapped in blankets. Most were staring dazedly into the distance. A few were trembling uncontrollably. One, an older woman, was still unconscious. Apparently her prognosis was not good. 

A man with a long grey beard was sitting next to him. He'd apparently been the senior enchanter, the one who'd co-ordinated the whole shindig.

“We've been working together for years. Never had a hitch.” The man's blue eyes were clouded. “It was only supposed to last a few days. Not weeks. On the third day, were were going to start a slow thaw. Springtime. Flowers. I was going to do the daffodils.” He sighed, a ghostly handful of blooms appearing. “I love daffodils. I was so looking forwards to it.”

“Stop that, you need rest.” Morrigan banished the pale yellow flowers with a snap, but her voice was affectionate.

“Lucky thing you got here,” Varric eyed her speculatively.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. Some of the staff contacted me when the party continued far longer than they had been led to expect. They'd tried to notify Fleurry, but got no response. Too wrapped up in her court intrigues to notice her mail, I expect.”

“They going to be alright?” Varric nodded towards the shell-shocked mages.

“Probably. Don't imagine Sarah will be working with us any more, but I expect the rest of us will be alright after awhile.” The old man scratched behind his ear.

“You're not planning on doing more of these?” Morrigan's voice was thick with disgust.

“Not my choice. Up to our Lady employer. Still, we'll have to put some safeguards in place. Maybe not thin the Veil so much. We'll see.” 

Morrigan's lips thinned as she glared at the old mage. Varric, sensing a pending argument, went to find the rest of his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem "Ode to His Coy Mistress" by Marvell.


End file.
